The halls of justice where people once marched lie vacant with only shadows covered by dust and cobwebs. The libraries ransacked and the law books censored to protect the guilty. The arachnids have long but abandoned their webs and the bats their rafters, allowing the repulsive locusts to devour democracy’s rich harvest and watching a parasite’s jaw clamp down on roots in plain sight. This land is barren and is a place where the sound of flapping wings buzzes in the ears like a prairie motorcycle on its way to the wasteland where it rains dust from a seldom traveled road, and where thick smoke from a traveler’s exhaust pipe fills a once blue sky.
Nothing grows here, and the occupants of this land willingly believe that it is too late to harvest, the life giving seeds on their shelves and in their cupboards sitting unplanted. The citizens have surveyed their drought land, seeing what the sand has made of their air, water, soil and livelihoods. A strong gust of wind had knocked the sheriff flat on his back and set tumbleweeds ablaze. There were those who believed that Armageddon was approaching, and to them, hell’s existence was unquestioned. For years, the ever evolving ideals of freedom and liberty gave this land its fertility and its vibrancy.
The citizens of this land however, left this land of liberty to shrivel like worn out pages, until it was off the map. Those who pass by barely recognize what once was, and those who continue to endure the toxic fumes in hopes that the air will one day be fresh say that the wound is too deep to heal, that the country is forever scared. A wise man in the village once faced similar droughts that he says made the land that he held dear stronger and believed that a phoenix would rise from the ashes. Even he is beginning to lose faith in the judgment of those around him as he looks out to the horizon and witnesses the locusts tearing up the land.
The survival of this land had previously rested on those with jurisdiction, who kept the rule of law sacred and did not allow even a king to violate what the people held dear. Even they were petrified as branches
A brave few chiseled at the expanding branch, desperately attempting to stunt its growth. A far more reluctant majority believed that these people were attempting to take an axe to government and overthrow democracy. Despite the fact that the branch’s shadow was ominously encompassing the land, the majority decided to laze in the shade of their false perceptions. Though they felt the bitter wind develop against the backs of their necks, they did not look around to see where the wind had come from, and did not dare look where they were heading.
As the shadow blanketed the land the majority stood by and watched as the few desperately attempted to stunt the branch’s growth. The branch had grown to such a size that the trees roots were unable to support the weight of the limb that acted more than a rampant weed than a majestic pine. Those watching grew board and set sail from the tree, as those who were hacking watched in disbelief: they thought that people would use every last ounce of their strength to defend their land from the tyranny waged by outlaws and criminals. If it was too late for them, then it was too late for the land that they loved.
Those who chose what they saw as a simple route were soon surprised. On their uncharted course those on this misplaced excursion met stormy seas and icy winds that rattled their boat and sent shivers down the pores of their skin. The few kept hacking against a branch that sprouted vines that lashed back at them like venomous serpents attempting to strangle their prey. Hacking left and right seemed to do no good, it seemed that all was lost, that time was in short supply.
The roots of the tree were exposed to the public; dry and black as coal. Without a foundation the tree would surly fall and crush all those who had defended its former beauty, not for their own benefit, but for the benefit of future occupants of this land. Obligation outweighed convenience as they looked at out sea, watching those who tried to turn their ship around in the rough waters drown into the choppy sea. Their ship had sank for they used the deteriorating lumber from the tree’s roots to build their ark.
There was a loud "snap" that came from the base of the limb. Those who had been hacking off vine and those entangled in the constructing, barbed and mangled puppet wires jumped for their lives. They were too flustered to watch the branch fall, its vines reaching for their plummeting host. When the smoke cleared the victorious knew that the desert that had enveloped their lives would transform into something more familiar.
The people rebuilt their homes out of the branch that they had hacked from the tree, now being watered and trimmed by their children who they knew must heed this important lesson. Flowing rivers once again quenched the occupant’s pallets and gave the land a new vibrancy. A land that was once engulfed by shadows could breathe and grow again.
The town elder was especially pleased, and was the first to take his great granddaughter too look out at the horizon from the dead branch. Sitting on the branch they looked up at the tree trunk and saw a stem growing where the branch once was. The child quickly climbed up the tree, wanting to pluck the stem before it slashed her dreams. Her grandfather picked her up and twirled her in the air saying that she need not worry. He said that the people here would never let the branch grow out of control, until it was too late. She smiled, asked to be let down, and ran through the newly sprouted fields. The halls of justice were flowering, and the elder looked up the tree, knowing what makes its roots strongest. He knew that it was not too late for her generation.